


everything you will never see again

by komikamii



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Angst, Based off a song, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Slight Canon Divergence, Unedited We Die Like Men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:13:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27260011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/komikamii/pseuds/komikamii
Summary: It was only because of Komaeda that Hinata loved the ocean. He loved it because it was Komaeda’s ocean. He was there. In the waves and the sand and every breath of cold, salty air, Komaeda’s soul whispered to him, begging "don’t forget don’t forget don’t forget."But he had been forgotten, even by himself, long before he had died.And so his soul begged in vain.
Relationships: Hinata Hajime/Komaeda Nagito
Comments: 10
Kudos: 40
Collections: Song Based Collections, Song Based FanFiction





	everything you will never see again

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off the song 'Aesthetic? More like Ass-Pathetic' by Panucci's Pizza, so give that a listen :>  
> .  
> Also, the timeline doesn't really make sense (when thinking from the order of the anime) but it does technically I swear.

Hinata used to hate the sand. It was scratchy and uncomfortable and it rubbed painfully in his joints. And then he met Komaeda that day on a sandy beach, and sand became something that reminded him of Komaeda. He wanted to bury himself in it and return when maybe he’d have a hope of living a normal life with him.

The ocean itself became something that reminded him of Komaeda. It reminded him of the first few days they’d met, when they’d meet up at the beach in their spare time and play in the waves. The waves were one of the few things that Komaeda’s luck never seemed to mess up. They were a constant in an inconstant world. It reminded him of the day they’d gotten out of the simulation, when they looked across the wide expanse of ocean and simply admired the fact that they were still alive.

When Komaeda had grabbed his hand in his own back then, Hinata had hated it. He’d hated the cold plastic and metal that reminded him eternally that this man had cut his fucking hand off for fun, and he’d hated how tightly his fingers had always been squeezed. And then there was no noisy mechanical hand reaching for his in the middle of the night or in the early hours of the morning, and he grew to miss it.

When Komaeda wasn’t there anymore, Hinata woke up calling for and reaching for someone who wasn’t there, who would never be there again, most nights.

“God, you’ve made me a fool,” he would whisper when he eventually calmed himself down, half to himself, half to his already-fading memories.

It was only because of Komaeda that Hinata loved the ocean. He loved it because it was Komaeda’s ocean. He was there. In the waves and the sand and every breath of cold, salty air, Komaeda’s soul whispered to him, begging _don’t forget don’t forget don’t forget._

“Don’t forget _what_ exactly?” Hinata would often ponder bitterly to himself as he stared across the bleak expanse of water.

There was nothing to forget. Everything Komaeda was, and everything Komaeda would ever be, had ended in a bloody shitshow of knives and poison.

And before that, everything Komaeda _really_ was, had ended when his brain started to disintegrate.

He had been forgotten, even by himself, long before he had died.

And so his soul begged in vain.

The voice in Hinata’s ear sounded scared.

Hinata had never known Komaeda to be the kind to be scared. Because Komaeda had never seemed that way, the whole time they were on the island. He’d maintained that façade right up until he died and Hinata finally saw the pain and the fear and the horror etched onto his face.

Hinata hated him, and at the same time he loved him more than anything else.

Komaeda was never a constant. Sometimes he was a kind boy who would smile and pinch Hinata’s cheeks, but by the next day everything would be ruined, and Hinata would wish that he could scoop out his cheeks, digging out the soft tissue so Komaeda couldn’t pinch them anymore.

When he was doing well, he was the happiest person Hinata had ever seen. Good days for Komaeda meant he was genuinely kind and caring and he never stopped smiling no matter what was happening or how bad his luck was that day. Good days for Komaeda meant he and Hinata spent hours talking, going on walks and picking flowers, laughing and having fun and doing things normal teenagers got to do.

And when he was bad, he was scary. Bad days for Komaeda meant Hinata spending hours talking him down from killing himself, hours caring for whatever horrific wounds he’d inflicted upon himself this time, and even more hours nursing him as he sobbed and cried into Hinata’s shoulder. Bad days for Komaeda meant violence and suffering and every day being an inch away from shooting himself in the head.

And for Hinata, Komaeda’s bad days made it no surprise when he killed himself.

But the third time he discovered the body there was no A.I systems or dream worlds or crazy fantasy things like that. He wished there were, and maybe then he wouldn’t be standing alone on a cold and windy beach almost every day.

Komaeda’s arms. They were pale and sickly thin, and one of his hands wasn’t his own. They were scattered with things that weren’t right like that. Namely, scars. Too many. Too many and when Hinata found him they were mangled even beyond that recognition.

“Because Komaeda was a psychopath,” his classmates told him. That was why he did that. Because Komaeda was a psychopath and psychopaths didn’t need grief or mourning. A psychopath like Komaeda didn’t warrant a tear from Hinata.

Komaeda’s legs were the same. There was a word carved into one of them, that Hinata had barely ever seen, but that always stuck with him – _Hope_. A sick reminder of how the lengths that word had driven him. And when Hinata found him there was another – _Despair_. Maybe it had finally gotten to him. Maybe Komaeda, the man who’d once wished to become Ultimate Hope, had finally fallen to despair.

“He’s just fucking with us,” his classmates had said the first time they stared down at the body. “He’s Komaeda, of course he is. That’s all he ever did.”

A psychopath like Komaeda didn’t warrant sympathy from Hinata, after all.

But Hinata had loved Komaeda, however much he’d hated him. He’d loved even the parts Komaeda had hated about himself. Komaeda’s arms, his legs, his body, his face, everything Komaeda had wanted to destroy, Hinata had loved.

Everything he would never see again.

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all should also follow me on Twitter if you liked this hehe  
> https://twitter.com/komikamii


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